A Flower in the Ashes
by Penny Dreadfuls
Summary: A young girl lives in squalor. Her only friend, dying in her lap, imparts a secret that will change her life forever. Updates every Wednesday. 3.29: Amaryllis wakes up.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: In Which We Meet Our Heroine

_A dream …_

_The girl stumbled over a tree root. She was running, running as fast as she could through the forest. Something was chasing her. What? What? She couldn't tell. Needle-like leaves whipped her face, and thorns stung her legs. She tripped over a large stone, and landed heavily on her front. She turned over on her elbows to face whatever was following her. Just as it was about to come into view …_

She woke up.

Amaryllis turned on her right side and curled up, taking deep, shuddering breaths. That had been so close – she had been so sure that it was going to get her. And just because it was a dream didn't mean it couldn't hurt her. After she felt calmer, she sat up, taking care not to hit her head on the table above her. The sun was just about to rise – that meant that it was time to wake up and start her chores.

Amaryllis was a young girl of diminutive stature and nearly seventeen years. Her hair was long and dark, with just a little bit of a wave. She normally wore it tied back in a long braid under a rough, square scarf, but she'd have preferred to have it tied in a half-ponytail and the rest free. Her outfit was rough, worn and dirty: a brown skirt, a grey shirt, and a green bodice, laced with a leather cord. She had a strikingly pretty face; with merry grey eyes, a pert nose, and a cupid's-bow mouth; but her features were clouded with dirt and sorrow, making it difficult to tell.

She began her chores with feeding the hens behind the inn, where she lived, and then went to filling the horse's trough with water, which she had to carry from the pump in the middle of the yard to the barn in two buckets. After that, the cows had to be driven to the pasture half a mile away. Amaryllis walked back after she had shut the gate on them, her eyes fixed on the ground so as to keep her from falling as she engaged her mind in dreaming of a life utterly unlike her own, one where she slept on a soft bed with a heavy coverlet and ate good food off real plates and wore clean clothes that fit the way they were supposed to. Then it was time to fetch the eggs.

She got back to the inn before breakfast was supposed to start. She knew that the cook, Mrs. Burns, should be making the food for the guests, but there were no sounds coming out from the kitchen. Amaryllis went into the kitchen to see if Cook hadn't gotten there yet – if she hadn't, Amaryllis would have to begin the cooking – and found the woman lying on the floor.

"Mrs. Burns!" she said, setting down the eggs and rushing over to lift the cook's head and place it on her lap. "Oh. Mrs. Burns, are you all right?"

The woman wheezed and opened her eyes a little. "It's my heart, girl," she replied. "It's given out on me. I won't make it – don't bother to get me to the Healer, there's nothing she can do. My mother died like this, and her mother as well."

"But –"

"Quiet, now. I've something to tell you. You know that you're Porter's niece?"

Amaryllis nodded. The innkeeper, his wife, and their son and daughter were her only family.

"It's not true. You're as related to them as I am."

"Are – are you my aunt, then?"

"Don't be daft. You've got family, and lots of it. Some fancy nobs brought you here when you were just a baby, paid him, said you'd not go to Hogwarts, they'd take care of it, and you were to be told that you were an orphan and a Squib. I was there, and Porter threatened me, said he'd kill me if I ever told. Well," she laughed creakily, "it's too late for him to do anything now."

"But –"

"Now," Mrs. Burns gasped, "you find your family, Amaryllis Black." She gasped a few more times, then went still. Amaryllis found her eyes welling up with tears as the only one who had ever been able to spare her a kind word lay, expired, in her lap. She leaned over and kissed the old woman's forehead, smoothing her hair as she did so.

Amaryllis suddenly heard heavy, clumping footsteps and looked up as Porter and Missus entered the kitchen. Porter glowered as his wife looked down her nose at the girl and the corpse. "Get the old biddy out of here," he grunted at his wife. As Missus levitated the body up and out of the door, Porter reached down and hauled Amaryllis to her feet. "You get on cooking the breakfast." As she stood, unmoving and silent, he casually backhanded her, sending her to the floor. "Get to it, girl." He turned and went out to greet the first crowd of people who were coming down for breakfast.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Amaryllis stirred the pot on the fire, brain working madly. _Black …rich people …family_. There was only one possibility in her mind: she must be one of the Blacks, the richest and oldest of all of the wizarding families. But why would a Black be sent to live in the country and never learn magic? It simply made no sense.

She took the oatmeal off the fire with her apron wrapped around her hand, and spooned about half of it into a large bowl. She picked up the bowl and the ladle that hung on the wall next to the fireplace, and set off for the main room of the inn, where a large family was waiting for their breakfast.

The family were nearly all red-headed and boisterous. She noticed that two of the members were brunets and quieter than the rest, and of course the two adults were fairly serene, but the others all spoke quickly and loudly.

She approached the table with the oatmeal and began to walk around it, spooning out oatmeal as she went. Most of the time she was met with a nod and a quick smile, but the dark-haired boy with glasses stopped his conversation with the red-haired girl and said, "Thanks. It looks great." She blushed and bobbed a quick curtsey before moving down to the brunette.

After she finished serving the breakfast, she went back to get the pitchers of orange juice, milk, and water and the pots of coffee and tea. Then it was back to the kitchen again to fetch cream, lemon, and sugar. After the guests were all settled, Amaryllis went back to the kitchen and stayed there, as she was supposed to. She stirred the oatmeal, off the fire now, and, for once forgetting to glance around and make sure she wasn't being watched, dipped a finger in and licked it off. It was still warm, and tasted like heaven compared to the table scraps she was normally given. As she made to slip her finger in again, her arm was caught and she was pulled around so that her back was pressed up against the wall.

It was John, Porter's son, who had grabbed her and was now uncomfortably close and leering into her face. "Naughty girl. Eating when you're not supposed to _and_ getting the guests' food dirty. I wonder what my da will do to you when I tell?"

He was twisting her wrist as he held it, and she squirmed. "Please- please don't. Please!"

He leaned in closer. "Give us a kiss and I'll think about it."

She gaped at him. No – she didn't want to – he _couldn't_ – She broke away, ripping her arm from his grasp, and stumbled into the main room, falling to the floor and scrambling away. The red-haired family looked up in interest.

"Is something wrong?" the mother asked, her brow furrowing, as John strode into the room.

"Oh, no, missus," he replied, grinning widely. "My girl and I were just playing around. She tripped over the table. All right?" He grabbed Amaryllis's arm and pulled her up, then put his arm around her and held her close. "Let's go back in – "

"No!" She pushed him away, and he stumbled slightly, a look of disbelief crossing his face. "I'm not your girlfriend! Leave me alone – please," she begged, "please, just let me go back to work. I'll do anything else, just please, leave me my dignity." As she stood, trembling slightly with the force of her indignation, Porter entered from the barnyard door.

"What's going on in here?" he rumbled threateningly. "You're supposed to be in the kitchen, and you –" he swung around on his son, " – you're supposed to be doing something, I'm sure of it."

"She did something, Da, you can be sure of it," said a tall, skinny girl who was descending the stairs – Anna Porter. "She's got that guilty-as-sin look on her face – probably stealing from the guests." She smiled smugly and leaned on the wall as her father turned back on Amaryllis.

"It's true, Da," John put in. "She had her finger in the oatmeal pot. I seen her."

"What?" Porter's face turned a nasty shade of red, somewhat like the color of a finger that's been hit by a hammer. "Stealing food _and_ dirtying things? If you want a beating," he said threateningly, "why'nt you just come and ask?"

"Please, sir – I'm sorry – I was just so hungry –"

The red-haired father exchanged a look with his wife and stood up. "It's all right, no harm done."

"Don't worry, sir." Porter's voice had changed back to the oily tones he used for speaking to guests. "She's a bad one, needs a bit of encouragement sometimes. Slow, too, in the head. My niece, she's just a Squib."

Somewhere deep inside of Amaryllis, something stirred. At the bottom of her emotions, in places that had never been brought to the surface, places that had been covered by sorrow and fear for her whole life, the rage that had been suppressed began to wake.

"No," she said, beginning to tremble slightly.

"What's that?"

"I'm not your niece," she replied quietly.

Porter leant down so that his eyes were on a level with hers. "And who's been filling your head with stories, then?"

She shook her black hair back, grey eyes determined. "Mrs. Burns told me the truth. I'm a Black, and I'm a witch, and I am not going to be your servant any longer."

"Why you little …" Porter breathed. Everyone in the room seemed to freeze, as though time had stopped for everyone but Amaryllis, leaving her to breathe in gasps and ignore the tiny voice of the Amaryllis she had been for her whole life that was telling her fall to the floor and beg forgiveness and hope for the beating to be short.

Porter broke the spell by raising his hand and bringing it down again on her face so hard that she was dashed to the ground. It seemed to Amaryllis that there was a general sort of pandemonium coming from the red-haired family, but then the room swam and her consciousness floated away from her, and her eyes closed on the sight of the dark-haired boy as he stood above her, facing Porter, wand raised in determination.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The first thing that Amaryllis noticed when she started to come around again was the feeling of a soft pillow under her head and smooth, clean blankets around her. She decided immediately that this must be one of her dreams and snuggled herself further down into the blankets, but after a few moments she realized that none of her dreams ever had quite that smell of daisies and baking bread floating through them. So, she cautiously opened her eyes and sat up against the pillows, taking stock of her surroundings.

The quilt on her bed was primarily pale green, which matched the walls and curtains. The walls were dotted with Quidditch posters, most notably the Wigtown Wanderers. The windows were all halfway opened, and a cool zephyr blew through, fluttering the curtains. There were a bookcase and a desk along one wall; the desk was covered in parchments and schoolbooks, and the bookcase was about half-full of novels and half-full of old and battered toys: a teddy-bear with one ear sat next to a toy broom that had half of the bristles pulled out. A camp bed was set up in the center of the room, neatly made. A school trunk sat off to one side, the lid propped against the wall, with a few jumpers hanging over the side, as though someone had been rummaging through it to find something under them and ran off after the object had been found. The wood floor was mostly uncovered, save for the very faded green and blue braided rug in the center of the room. To Amaryllis, it seemed like a scene out of a storybook, or perhaps an elaborate dream.

As she pushed the quilt and blankets off, she noticed that she was in her shift: a thin, once-white dress with no sleeves that stopped at mid-thigh. As she set her feet on the floor and prepared to test them and see if they could take her weight, the door opened, revealing the dark-haired boy who had thanked her at breakfast. She blushed and hurriedly thrust her legs under the covers.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I thought you were still out."

"How long," Amaryllis started, then had to swallow a few times and cough feebly to assuage the dryness in her throat. "How long was I asleep, sir? If you don't mind my asking."

The boy smiled and sat down on the edge of the bed. "It's all right; you don't have to call me sir or ask permission or anything. You've been here for about five hours: after the man who ran the inn knocked you out, Mrs. Weasley shouted at him for a bit and told him she was taking you home, and then she made him get your things – your books are somewhere on Ginny's desk - and she washed your clothes, they're drying right now." He took a breath and smiled again. "We've been coming in to check on you since we brought you in. Ginny thought she was going to have to sleep on the sofa downstairs tonight."

Amaryllis's head swirled. This new place – the new names – the one thing she knew was that she owed these people so much, she ought to start working for them right away. "Thank you very much." She bit off the _sir_ she'd been planning to add right away as he seemed to not want the title. "Could you – could you please tell me where I am? And who all of you are?"

"Oh – this is the Burrow, it's the Weasleys' house. They're the family I was with. We were taking a bit of a holiday, just for a few days, but they cut it off to take you home. It's all right," he said quickly as she started to look slightly faint, "you haven't ruined anything, Ron and Ginny were just talking about how much they didn't like it there. The other girl, with the brown hair, that was Hermione Granger. And I'm Harry Potter."

Amaryllis went pale. "You're not."

He seemed a little puzzled. "Yes, I am. I should know."

"You can't – I mean, Harry Potter is not sitting on my bed while I'm in my underwear."

His smile vanished. "I really am sorry – do you want me to go?"

"No! I mean, no, it's quite all right. You can stay if you want to."

An uncomfortable silence fell between them, and Amaryllis watched as Harry began picking at his fingernails. After about ten minutes – which felt like ten hours – the door opened again, and one of the red-haired boys came in. He was tall and lanky, with broad shoulders and a smattering of freckles.

"Harry, Mum sent me up to –" He broke off. "Blimey, you're awake."

"Oh, this is Ron," Harry said, gesturing at the boy. "Yeah," he said to Ron, "she just woke up. What does your mum want?"

"Hi," said Ron. "It's lunch-time. What's your name?"

"I'm Amaryllis," she said, and smiled up at him. "Amaryllis Black."

_I'd like to thank all of my reviewers at this point, and all of my readers as well, even those who don't review. The hit counter can make me happy as well!_


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

"Do you feel well enough to come downstairs?" Harry asked, concern evident on his face and in his voice. "Maybe you should stay in bed …"

"Oh, I'm fine, really," Amaryllis said, blushing slightly. "Don't worry about me, I'm quite – quite hardy." Harry and Ron seemed to glance at her thin arms and then share a look. "I am here, you know. You haven't got to act as though I'm a child, I'm nearly seventeen … probably. And I might be skinny, but I'm strong, I am."

Ron sighed. "All right, look, I'll get you one of Ginny's dresses. Just calm down." He crossed to a door on the other side of the room, which appeared to lead to a small cupboard, opened it, and rummaged around, finally coming out with a worn blue dress. "This should fit you, I think."

"Ginny won't thank you for going through her things," Harry advised, smiling slightly.

"She can take it as payback for reading Hermione's letter, then, can't she?" Ron replied, his ears turning red. "Out loud." He handed the dress to Amaryllis.

"We'll just go out and wait for you to dress, then," said Harry, and the two boys walked out, pulling the door closed behind them. Amaryllis pulled off the covers once more and tested her weight – her legs held her, and she wasn't surprised: she'd only been hit once, after all, and she had been eating properly lately. Well. Properly for what she was used to.

She pulled on the dress and buttoned up the front, wishing that there were a mirror in the room so that she could make sure she didn't look ill. The dress was made out of cotton, but printed in a sort of denim pattern, with a row of white buttons proceeding up past the high waist to the shirt collar. She then wondered about where her shoes were, but after a few moments of looking around she located them just under the bed, and she sat down to tie them. At last, she went to the door and stepped out.

"I couldn't brush my hair," she said apologetically. "I didn't see a comb out, and I didn't want to go through the trunk, and it really needs washing, so I'm just sorry."

The boys exchanged a more surprised look this time. "Sorry about what?" Harry asked.

She stared at him. "Well, you have to look at it, don't you?"

Ron grinned. "Just sit next to Harry and no-one will notice," he assured her.

----

Amaryllis tried not to stare at the house as they proceeded downstairs to the kitchen, but it was so difficult: everything was so lived-in and soft, so utterly unlike her life up until that point. There were knitted pillows on the sofa, and carpets, and books, and all sorts of little things that added up to form a whole that spoke of kindness and warmth and a home.

Mrs. Weasley was standing at the counter, where she was preparing a tray full of sandwiches. "Ron, come take these out to the garden, we'll be eating out there," she ordered without turning around.

"She woke up, Mum," Ron announced, and his mother spun around.

"Oh, my dear, are you sure you feel well enough to be out of bed?" she asked, bustling over and turning Amaryllis's face gently by the chin. "You've got quite a nasty bruise coming along – just come over here and let's take care of that." She went over to a cupboard and took out a jar, which she opened. It was full of some sort of paste, which felt wonderfully cooling on the bruise on Amaryllis's temple as she dabbed it on. "There we are, it's shrinking," Mrs. Weasley said with satisfaction. "Ron, get that plate. Harry, if you could take those napkins? There's a dear boy. Now, dear," she said, steering Amaryllis to the door that the two boys were rapidly disappearing from, "I've just realized that we don't have any idea who you are!"

"I – my name's Amaryllis, ma'am," she said, "Amaryllis Black. But, please, you really shouldn't have done all of this for me, I'd have been all right, really, I would have. If I get knocked out he usually stops quicker. And I really don't want to be any trouble to you –"

Mrs. Weasley hushed her in the middle of her sentence. "You're no trouble at all, dear. But why don't you get a little something in you before we talk about this any more?" She held the door open for Amaryllis, and though she stopped talking Amaryllis could sense that the woman had caught the next-to-last sentence and was going to bring it up later.

As much as Amaryllis didn't want to impose on this family, she had to admit to herself that, watching them laugh together and relax in the garden, she wanted more than anything to feel that she belonged there.

_I'm very sorry for not updating last week: I've been doing a couple of projects and time is sadly limited. I'll try to get going replying to your reviews … at some point in time. Re: two page chapters – one reason is that, well, that's what I have time for (though I do try to give you more quality than quantity); the other is because I think the original penny dreadfuls were rather short._


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